he day,--what's it like?"

"Blazin' hot--hotter than yesterday--'hotter than New Orleens,' Mr.
Quackinbosh says."

"D--n Mr. Quackinbosh, and New Orleens too!" growled out O'Shea.

"With all my heart. He's always laughing at what he calls _my_ Irish, as
if it was n't better than _his_ English."

"Any strangers arrived?"

"Devil a one. Ould Pagnini says he 'll be ruined entirely; there never
was such a set, he says, in the house before,--nothing called for but
the reg'lar meals, and no wine but the drink of the country, that is n't
wine at all."

"He's an insolent scoundrel!"

"He is not He is the dacentest man I seen since I come to Italy."

"Will you hold your prate, or do you want me to kick you downstairs?"

"I do not!" said he, with a stern doggedness that was almost comic.

"Did you order breakfast?"

"I did, when I heard you screech out. 'There he is,' said ould Pan; 'I
wish he 'd be in the same hurry to call for his bill.'"

"Insolent rascal! Did you blacken his eye?"

"I did not"

"What did you do, then?"

"I did nothing."

"What did you say? You're ready enough with a bad tongue when it's not
called for,--what did you say?"

"I said people called for their bills when they were lavin' a house, and
too lucky you 'll be, says I, if he pays it when he calls for it."

This seemed too much for Mr. O'Shea's endurance, for he sprang out of
bed and hurled a heavy old olive-wood inkstand at his follower. Joe,
apparently habituated to such projectiles, speedily ducked his head, and
the missile struck the frame of an old looking-glass, and carried away a
much-ornamented but very frail chandelier at its side.

"There's more of it," said Joe. "Damage to furniture in settin'-room,
forty-six pauls and a half." With this sage reflection, he pushed the
fragments aside with his foot, and then, turning to the door, he took
from the hands of a waiter the tray containing his master's breakfast,
arranging it deliberately before him with the most unbroken tranquillity
of demeanor.

"Did n't you say it was chocolate I'd have instead of coffee?" said
O'Shea, angrily.

"I did not; they grumble enough about sending up anything, and I was n't
goin' to provoke them," said Joe, calmly.

"No letters, I suppose, but this?"

"Sorra one."

"What's going on below?" asked he, in a more lively tone, as though
dismissing an unpleasant theme. "Any one come,--anything doing?"

"Nothing; they 're all off to that villa t